


two steps back from where i wanna be

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [106]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: "you can't make this prompt serious" they said, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mako Mori Lives, well look at me NOW fucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: It's been ten years; Newt needs to do some catching up.He starts with media, which, in all honesty, may not have been the very best idea ever.





	two steps back from where i wanna be

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "prompt: someone tries to explain the plot of all the riverdale episodes newt missed while possessed"

“So,” Newt says.

They’re standing in the waiting-room-slash-lobby—well, actually, technically, it’s the hallways leading down to his cell, but it’s spacious as fuck, so. Lobby, in Newt’ mind.

Hermann, standing at his side, turns and raises a brow; the slight light of trepidation in his eyes, which, okay, _not fair,_ really, honestly, he’s not _that_ bad, and asks, “Yes…?”

“So,” Newt says, again, and then: “What’d I—_miss!_”

Hermann groans; drags a hand through his hair—hell, that’s from _him,_ isn’t it? Hermann never used to do that, it was always _Newt_—and says, flatly, “You’re a horrible, horrible person. I hate that I know that reference.”

Newt grins. “Sure,” he says, “we both know you’ve watched bootleg copies.”

“I have _not!_” Hermann protests; eyes narrowing, “how _dare—_”

“_Gentlemen!_”

Mako; Newt stops. She’s…still alive?

_Oh, god,_ he thinks; a little bit delirious and a lot bit fucking _emotional, she’s_ alive.

And she _is;_ though missing an eye, and in a medical wheel-chair, her gaze is as sharp as ever; black hair bob-length still, and with blue streaks in it again, and Newt suddenly remembers a day a bit like this, ten years ago: Mako, soaked and weary, but alive none-the-less, laying in a medical cot.

“_Mako,_” he says, softly; because, honestly, he’s afraid that if he speaks too loud, she’ll disappear or something; a hallucination conjured by his mind.

“Doctor Geiszler,” she greets; voice quiet as well, and a little hoarse, but there’s a soft smile playing at her lips, and Newt finds a matching one rising; vision clouding a bit, and he drags a hand over his eyes roughly.

“Good to see you, kid,” Newt says. “Good to…good to see you.” _Alive,_ he doesn’t say, because that’s too painful.

Hermann moves a bit closer; raises his arm, a bit, hand hovering over Newt’s hip; not touching, quite, but offering an unspoken reassurance.

_God,_ Newt thinks, gaze flicking from Hermann to Mako, _I don’t deserve any of this._

* * *

“Still, though,” Newt says, “the point stands: cadets, what did I miss? Media-wise, I mean,” he adds, when Hermann looks like he’s about to launch into a rant about the geo-political state.

“Uh,” says the tall, Russian one. “…media?”

“Movies, books, tv, c'mon,” Newt prompts, impatiently, “does the CW still exist? Supergirl, the Flash—oh, are they making more Mission: Impossible movies? Oh—Riverdale?”

One of the cadets winces, and Newt’s head swivels. “Ah-hah!” he exclaims, “_Riverdale!_”

“Oh, no,” one of the other cadets groans, “look, dude, _please—_”

“They found another Riverdale beneath the real one!” pipes the little kid—Amara? Her name’s Amara, Newt’s pretty sure; the kid who built her own Jaeger. “Yep, that’s me,” she chirps, and Newt blinks; he hadn’t realised he’s said it aloud.

Anyway. “Another one?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she nods; enthusiastic, and the other cadets look about ready to sink into the floor. “Like—Through the Looking Glass. It was cool! Archie almost lost all of his limbs. They even had a kaiju!”

“They _what,_” Newt says, flatly.

“Namani,” the Russian snaps; glaring, “do not subject us to this.”

Amara scowls at her. “You’re just jealous I won’t pay attention to you, Vik,” she retorts, and turns back to Newt. “The finale is that they’re in a time-loop and they all die and get sent back to the start of the show.”

“That’s…” Newt pauses, giving the ceiling a scrutinising look. “Really fucked up,” he settles on.

“Newton!” Hermann hisses, “_language!_”

“Idi nahui,” Vik says, without missing a beat, and raises a thin, bleached-blonde brow. “We are not innocent children, doctor. We were born in a war.”

“_Vik,_” Amara sighs; turns to Hermann. “Sorry, Doctor Geiszler,” she says. “That was…depressing.”

And true, Newt doesn’t say; realises, suddenly, that, _fuck;_ these kids are old enough that, yeah, they _do_ remember the Kaiju War, and isn’t that a trip? He swallows; turns to Hermann. Suddenly, the thought of catching up seems uniquely unappealing.

“I think I left the stove on,” he mutters, and begins to walk. No one points out that Newt doesn’t even have his own _room,_ let alone a _stove._

Hermann catches up with him after a few moments. “Newton?” he says; worry in his tone. “Are you alright?”

Newt gives a smile that’s less of a smile and more of a baring of teeth. “They should be at home, playing with their peers,” he says, “but because of me, they’re not. Because of me, they’re growing too old too fast.”

“_Your_ fault?” Hermann scoffs.

He gives a laugh that’s less a laugh and more a pained exhale; teeth clicking against each other. “They’re soldiers, Hermann,” he says. “Even if they survive—and that’s a big fucking _if,_ Hermann!—they’re going to be fucked up to kingdom come—all because I couldn’t fucking resist Drifting again!”

His voice’s risen; loud, and high, he’s on the verge of a panic-attack and they both know it, but he doesn’t _fucking_ care, because this? This is all on him.

“Newton!” Hermann snaps, the _click_ of his cane loud on the ground as he speeds up, turning on his heel so he’s standing in front of Newt, facing him; hand reaching out, and Newt flinches. “Newton,” he says, again, more calmly; and this time, Newt doesn’t flinch; stops, and lets the other touch him.

(Suddenly, there’s the scent of lavender in his nose; Hermann, standing before him, eyes pleading. “Please, Newton,” he begs, teary-eyed, one hand gripping his cane, the other, the handle of his suitcase. “Don’t make me hate you. Loving you is hard enough.”

“Go love someone else,” Newt dismisses.

A beat; Hermann swallows. “Alright, then,” he says, shakily.

The door closes softly behind him, leaving Newt with nothing but an empty flat, a tray of cooling muffins, and the overwhelming need to scream his despair out, shred his fingers on the strings of a guitar with the pain of it.

Instead, the next day, he digs the tank out of storage and resumes his Drift experiments again, more frequently now that he doesn’t have to lie and fit time in where it barely goes, avoiding Hermann all along.)

“You’re blaming yourself for something out of your control,” Hermann says. “Please, Newton, _breathe._”

He swallows.

In.

Out.

In.

The beat of his heart fades; no longer does the blood pound in his ears, river-rapids fast. Colour seeps, slowly, back into his surroundings, sepia to faded greys and colour. He breathes.

Hermann, across from him, meets his gaze. “Alright?” he asks.

“Y—yeah, thanks,” Newt mutters.

“Let’s go back home,” Hermann suggests. His hand is still on Newt’s arm, but neither of them comment on it. “We can order take-out, if you’d like.”

“…home,” Newt repeats; the image of Hermann’s appartment flashing before his mind’s eye, and he smiles, just a little. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good,” Hermann says, and his hand slips from Newt’s arm to his hand, and squeezes. “Good,” he says again.

Newt blinks rapidly and squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [harrowwharks](https://harrowwharks.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
